He bowed stiffly. “As you command,Heika.”
“General Sato, assess thewakoblockade here at Bara. Find me a way to break their hold.”
Sato bowed. “It will be done,Heika.”
“Grand Minister, draft messages to every allied clan and province. Wrap the missives in white silk with my seal. Spread word of what happened to Toshi DaikiDaimyo. Make it clear what kind of enemy we face. Those who stand with us will have the protection of Heaven. Those who waver . . .” I let the sentence hang. “Make them imagine what Eiko will do to them if she wins.”
“It will be done,Heika.”
I issued orders for each general assembled, orders about defenses, others about the flow of supplies, even more regarding the flow of information, then I looked around the chamber one last time, at the maps showing the Empire and at the generals who would see my orders carried out. I had no idea if my decisions were correct, if they would secure peace or lead to further bloodshed, but I knew, deep in my bones, that Father had felt the same, and an odd sense of peace enveloped me with that understanding.
“We have lost our first battle,” I said quietly. “Our first city. We have lost a loyalDaimyoand a blessed son of Heaven, but we are the Mugen Empire. We do not break. We do not panic. We do not become the monsters we are fighting against.” I paused. “You have your orders. Now move.”
The generals bowed and began gathering their maps and scrolls, the chamber filling with the rustle of paper and the quietmurmur of urgent planning. I was about to step down when a voice spoke up from near the entrance.
“Heika.”
The Grand Minister stepped forward, his aged frame bent but his eyes still sharp. He had been silent throughout much of the council, observing from his position near the wall, as was his custom. The generals paused in their preparations, turning toward him.
“There is . . . one matter that still requires your attention,Heika.” His voice was gentle, almost apologetic. “Arrangements for the Imperial funerals for your father and brother. Both wereTenno, however long their reigns. Protocol dictates that we must . . .”
The word hit me like a physical blow.
Funerals.
For Father and Kioshi.
I had been so focused on Yubi, on the war, on Eiko’s atrocities, on the decisions that needed to be made, that I had pushed aside the reality of what I had lost, of what the Empire had lost. Hearing it said aloud, in that formal chamber, surrounded by all these people, was yet another dagger to my already wounded heart.
I swallowed hard, forcing down the sudden tightness in my throat. My hands gripped the edge of the throne behind me.
“The preparations and traditions,” Satoshi continued, his tone carefully neutral, “require thirty days for an Imperial funeral to include proper processions, ceremonies, and mourning period. Every province must send representatives, every temple must be notified, and the rituals must be performed in the proper sequence. Given that we are laying to rest both TakashiTennoand KioshiTenno. . .” He trailed off delicately.
Thirty days.
Thirty days of ceremony and ritual while the Empire burned.
Thirty days of processions and representatives arriving from provinces that might be in rebel hands by the time they got here.
I could feel everyone watching me, gauging my reaction. I drew in a slow breath, using the pain in my chest to center myself, to remind myself why I was sitting on this throne, why these decisions mattered.
“Two,” I said.
“Heika?” Satoshi’s voice was uncertain for the first time I could remember.
“The funerals will take place in two days,” I said, keeping my voice steady through sheer force of will. “Not thirty.Two.”
“But Heika, the protocol—the provinces have not been notified—the ceremonies require—”
“The ceremonies will be conducted as they must be—and Grand Minister, my coronation must follow one day after the funeral,” I interrupted. “We do not have thirty days for anything. We do not have time for every provincial lord to make their leisurely way to the capital while our cities and towns prepare for invasion and our supply routes remain unsecured. The representatives who are already here will attend. Those who are not will understand . . . or they will not. Either way, we cannot afford to tie up our military forces providing security for a month-long state funeral while we are at war.”
The generals gaped. Even Yamada looked stunned.
“The troops assigned to funeral security will be needed to reinforce the pass within the week,” I continued. “The gold allocated for provincial entertainment and ceremony will be better spent on securing and supplying our defenses. The gods will understand. My father would . . .” My voice caught, and I had to force myself to continue. “My father was a soldier before he was an emperor. He would not want his funeral to cost us another city.”
“Heika,” Satoshi said gently, “I understand your concerns, but to rush the funeral of an emperor—twoemperors—it will be seen as disrespectful, as though you seek to move past their deaths too quickly. The people will not—”
“The people are fleeing Death himself,” I snapped. “The people of Yubi watched Daiki-samaexecuted. The people of the Empire are wondering who will fall next. They will understand that I am doing what must be done. And if they do not . . .” I straightened, forcing the Imperial mask back into place. “Then they will learn.”
